Where is Mrs. Stevo?
Mrs. Stevo zai nar?
Ou est Mrs. Stevo?
Can you answer the question? I can, but Mrs. Stevo is my wife, I have a tad more insight.
Remember the contest I had, the one I meant to continue but never did? There was a secret and no one could guess what it was.
The secret — was/is — is that I am now a bachelor. Mrs. Stevo has left me, for the time being. No, this isn’t a separation that can be resolved by counseling.
My delightful lao po is working somewhere in jolly ole England, and has been for two months. She will return to China eight months from now. Her task: Teaching Chinese to British high school students (I’ve met the students, her resolve will be tested).
So, here I sit. Alone.
I thought I would enjoy the freedom for a week or two before the loneliness set in, after she left in September. That enjoyment last about seven hours. I woke up a few hours after retiring, rolling over, stretching my arm toward the warm, soft body that wasn’t here.
Mrs. Stevo in London. You gotta love the hair flip.
She was gone.
Really gone.
I was alone.
I’ve come to grips with the loneliness. Luckily, my job keeps me hopping (running to stand still is a better description) and I don’t have a lot of time for personal feelings. That’s probably for the best. My thoughts wander to her during the quiet moments, the down-time, and I again feel like a silly teenage boy that writes flowery sonnets to his absent beloved.
Yuck. Been there, done that. I’m a man! Show no emotion. Brave the world, like a stoic.
Ummm, okay.
Here’s to you, Mrs. Stevo. I raise a glass to your adventure, and one to myself to numb the occasional pain of our separation. The weekend is almost here, dear friends. Send a quiet toast to the small Asian fireball on English soil. Or to me, the middle-aged 16 year old trying to figure out iambic pentameter.
